My Shattered Reality
by Audibug15
Summary: What if everything you've ever known was a dream? The Cullen's die in the battle with the Volturi and awake as humans recovering from accidents in various hospitals across the U.S and U.K. The Cullen's are forced to adjust to their new human forms as they search for their mates and family. Will they suceed or will Twilight be lost forever? AU canon couples. collab with letitbe54.
1. Preface

**What if everything you've ever known was merely a dream? The Cullen's lose the battle with the Volturi and all of them are killed, but instead of waking in hell as most of them predicted they awoke in various hospitals across the United States and the U.K as humans. Each one had experienced a traumatizing event that placed them in a coma, and throughout their time asleep they came up with the world of 'Twilight'. In reality, vampires, werewolves and shape shifters don't really exist, but the Cullen's, who have no recollection of their human lives, don't know a world without these fictional creatures. Now they must fight to find their old mates, and their old family, before the world of Twilight is lost forever.**

**In Collaboration with letitbe54, we bring you,**

'**My Shattered Reality'**

**Rating : T**

**Vampire/Human : Human**

**Canon/Non-Canon: Canon Couples, AU**

**Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer **

**Preface**

I'd like to say I prepared myself for this moment, but I would be, to no surprise, lying. How can one prepare oneself for such a horrific sight as this? No bloody image, no mutilated body, could ever prepare me for what has happened today, though in reality I should have been ready. I should have been able to stomach seeing my parental figures burning beneath a pile of flames, for I had known it was coming all along, did I not? We knew this would happen, every single one of us, yet we still decided to fight, to protect those we love. I suppose I can at least say my mother and father died for a reason.

They died for each other, as did Alice and Jasper.

Once Carlisle was decapitated by Aro, Esme lost her will to fight. She was so traumatized, so stressed over the death of her husband, that she followed him into his fiery grave. Without a second thought she succumbed to death's call and allowed herself to burn away, just as her mate did.

When Jasper was killed, Alice went limp and permitted her own death by one of the Volturi's minions. She lost the will to continue on, for what is there to live for when one's love is lost forever? How can I, a man who almost did the exact same thing, condone her actions and mourn for her death with an angry fist when she deserves to die and see her love once again?

The fires roar around me like an African plain covered in golden colored lions, all ready to embark on their final hunt. They are hungry for souls and for meat. Those fires, those resting places for my loved ones, will turn anything; even a man made of marble into nothing more than a pile of ash. I've seen it, how they turned my loving mother and sister into nothing. Nothing. Specs in the wind, soon to be forgotten. They have become nothing.

What will become of us now, with our leaders dead and our best assets gone? What front do we hold now against Aro's forces without the future on our side? Even the wolves are dying, Seth, Leah, Jared, all of them dead. What do we have now?

Oh Alice, why did she have to go so early? We still needed her and her rare talent, which could have won us the battle if she had been stronger.

_If all of us could have been stronger we might have had a shot._

But in truth, isn't this all fate's workings? Once Carlisle stepped foot on this barren field he was dead, as was his wife and his children. You cannot cheat death once he has made up his mind about you, the only thing you can do is wait and accept it once it comes, which I suppose is what I'm doing now. I'm as good as gone; I can feel it in my bones. My time is here, and although I am willing to go calmly I wish to kiss my wife one last time before I leave this world forever. More than anything I want her to be aware of my doubtless and unconditional love for her once I'm gone, and although I promised her eternity together this year would have to be enough.

My mind flashed to my parents and siblings relationships. How lucky they were to have so many long and happy years together. How surely I envy them, for they would always have something I could ever have: a love longer then a lifetime.

_They deserved it, Edward, you don't. Never forget whose fault this is. You murdered your family, not the Volturi. You play the blame game, but there is no one left to play with you, for everyone is dead. Even you are dead. _

My thoughts betray me, but in a way they are comforting. They assure me that although I have been selfish and idiotic in my decisions I will still be able to find a somewhat peaceful death, and if it is not it will still be death, and that, in the end, will suffice. It always does.

"Rose!"

A sharp scream penetrates the hasty and violent battle, and the sound, such a loud and booming noise, causes everyone, even our enemies, to slow down and stare in a mixture of shock and horror as my oldest sister, the lovely Rose, is decapitated and dismembered by a large and dark colored werewolf, who I instantly recognize as Sam. I can gather from the dog's thoughts that the death was supposed to be Jane's, not Rosalie's. The girl's jacket catches fire quickly, turning her body into a bonfire fit for a feast. I can see, through the hazy red and orange curtains, Rosalie's golden locks begin to burn and melt under the flame's relentless heat. Her eyes, glazed with venom, ignite, charring her golden orbs until they are black as night. The smell is ghastly, but oddly familiar. The smell of burning bodies sits on this field like a fog.

A hear a small gasp leave my mouth as I race forward, my feet crunching beneath the snow frantically.

_Not this, not now. Not Rosalie._

I lean over my sister's sweltering remains, the sweet and sickly scent particularly strong as the dark ashes from the fire began to stain the snow a murky grey. I covered my nose and stared into the flames, wondering how anyone would be able to recover from something of this magnitude. Especially Emmett. I glance over at my brother, taking in his slanted eyes and menacing scowl. His eyes are centered on Sam, his hands balled into fists at his side.

_It's just another death. It's happening all around you. Grow up and get over it._

But it's not just another death. True, Alice, Esme, and Carlisle were all very dear to me but Rosalie had always been very special to me, even if we didn't exactly show our love outwardly. She was my first sister and because of that she would always hold a place in my heart, a place no one else could hold. She cared for my wife and my daughter dearly, and although she didn't appreciate Bella at first, she too grew to love the young girl. She was an extraordinary woman and she most certainly deserves a more suitable burial then this, but for the moment it would have to do, for a battle still rages on without her.

I spot Sam again, a few feet away. His breathing is ragged and worn, causing him to whine and paw at the ground pitifully. He didn't understand, not yet. He thought he had done us a favor, he thought he had killed the Volturi's most potent and powerful weapon, Jane. His ignorance and stupidity was infuriating.

"You killed her, Sam. That wasn't Jane; it was Rosalie, my sister and Emmett's wife. You killed her on accident," I explained evenly. Something inside of me wasn't allowing the anger I was feeling over Rosalie's death to flow out and be expressed in violence as I wanted it to be. I wanted to feel the red hot anger I had felt when Aro pulled Carlisle's head off, or when Jasper's arms were snapped off, but I couldn't. I physically couldn't.

"An accident," I repeat. Emmett gives me a slight nod and begins walking toward Sam who stands his ground firmly.

My sister's death was an accident, a simple misunderstanding stemmed from an irrational thought. Sam had become overworked and was starting to become a bit delusional. He should have sat out the rest of the battle, but he thought he could make it. He wanted to make it, and win against the men who had caused so much turmoil not only within the Cullen house but within the wolf pack as well.

It was an accident, nothing more, nothing less.

I can see Sam's realization flash before his eyes, like a blind man seeing for the first time. He stares at the remains and with a slight and solemn nod of the head he allows himself to be killed by Rosalie's vengeful mate, who crushes his spine and organs with one quick and painless squeeze. The wolf falls over in the arms of my brother, who easies him to the ground with surprising composure. Sam wheezes one last time, his lungs gathering his last breath, before falling still forever. Emmett looks at me, his mouth slightly curved down in a frown. There are no sobs tearing from his chest as Esme, or screams echoing from his lungs as Alice, but a steady and pulsing anger is evident in his thoughts. He has avenged the one he loved more than anyone, and that for him is enough.

He doesn't need a fancy exit. He doesn't need to throw himself into the flames and curse the world and his luck, no all he needs is to die, and that, on this day, is easy enough. I even offer my assistance, for I feel pity for him, but a member of the guard beats me to it, and dismembers him quickly and efficiently. My brother's body burns alongside his wife, his arms forever entrapping her in a vise-like embrace. I know at that moment that they are happy and that they no longer need me, for they are gone from this world. I pray they have left for the same new world together.

"Edward!"

I know that voice anywhere. Bella.

I turn around and race toward her screams; desperately hoping time would for once today be on my side. Surprisingly enough it is.

Aro's hands grip my wife's neck, creating a faint pattern of cracks over her porcelain skin. I can tell she put up a fight, but being a new born she was no match against a vampire as old as Aro, at least not alone. She was foolish to go into the fight alone, but her vigor and confidence is quite commendable. She's comes out stronger than anyone would think, it's her gift.

I grab Aro around the waist and thrust him over my shoulder, his form landing on the ground with a successful thud. Bella, who had already recovered from her minor injuries, jumps up and grabs his ankles, flipping him over carelessly in the process. With his face firmly planted in the snow and Bella's knees pushing down on his back to keep him in place, I reach down to yank his head off, but before I can even reach the monster's neck I feel a pressure on my own neck and head. Hands, two of them, pulling me away from Aro at an incredibly fast pace. My resistance is small for I know my fate is sealed. I have nowhere to hide and nowhere to go.

Felix pushes me to the ground, grounding his hands into my shoulders as he readies himself for my execution. I can hear Bella in the distance, her screams like wailing choir bells as she watches in horror as her husband dies. I wish I could do something, assure her that everything would be ok without me, but it's already too late. My breath catches in my throat as I try to scream, to let my wife know I love her. My voice is muted not only by fear, but by acceptance. This is it, my time to go. I only wish I could tell her goodbye.

Felix's hands find my chin, his fingers pushing into my jaw line with a familiar ferocity. He is known to be the most feral of the Volturi, and the most menacing. I can now see why.

Pain wells up in my body as he yanks upward, my skull disconnecting from my neck, instantly killing me. Dying isn't nearly as bad as everyone says it is. It's actually, for a few seconds, incredibly peaceful, like a serene pond in the middle of springtime. Dying is easy compared to living.

The agony fades to a bleak numbing feel as the world turns bleak. A cool and murky darkness surrounds me like a frozen lake, and for the first time in years I begin to feel the cold. My teeth chatter relentlessly as I swim through the dark water. Then, suddenly, the surface comes into view, a bright light on the horizon. My bones ache but I force myself to make it, to swim faster, to break the surface. The light calls to me, beckons me. I need its warmth, its assurance. It's my only option.

My lungs burn with an unfamiliar need for oxygen, one I haven't felt in years. The throbbing in my ears causes me to swim faster, my body reminding my mind how little time I have left.

And then the surface breaks like a sheet of glass and I am free. I gasp for air greedily, my lungs taking in gallon after gallon of the precious oxygen. My eyes flutter open, but instead of seeing a darkly lit lake, I see a man with rectangular shaped glasses and a long white lab coat. The man is obviously human with thinning grey hair and a rather peculiar shaped mustache. His spindly fingers cling to a brown colored clipboard as he stares at me thoughtfully, his brown colored eyes wide with shock.

"Edward Anthony Masen," he says softly, adjusting his glasses awkwardly. I try to respond but my throat is dry and cracked. My lips feel terribly chapped, another old but familiar feeling. My body feels weak and worn as I adjust my achy from in the cheap hospital bed.

_Wait, what? Doctor, hospital, chapped lips, what's going on?_

"Hello, sir, I don't know if you remember me or not but I'm your doctor from a few months ago. You got into a terrible accident, one that was said to be too terrible for your body and mind to take. To let your wounds heal we placed you into a medical-induced coma, one that you didn't wake from when the time was right. You have been asleep for almost two months," he said, pursing his lips after his last sentence.

I stared at him with emotionless eyes before standing up swiftly. My strength failed me and I fell to the floor with a painful crack. My knees hit first, followed by my jaw, which snapped on impact. A groan of pain escaped my lips as blood dripped from my nose like a leaky faucet. My head swam for a second as nurses and doctors swarmed my sunken form. The same comforting blackness surrounded me again, but this time it didn't push me under the water as it did before. This time I stayed above the surface, my head bobbing above the water's edge. My lungs didn't burn with the same intoxicating pain, and my body didn't freeze with an impermeable chill. This time I was stuck, and there was no way to get back to where I actually belong.

At that moment I knew that my reality had shattered and that my life before was nothing but an impossible dream. Either that or I had ended up in hell. Either way I have a long road to get back home.


	2. British Life

Paste you

**First chapter! Very exciting! We are so happy to present Carlisle's chapter, please read and review!**

**OoOoOoOoO**

"Doctor! Come quick, I think he's waking!"

Footsteps. I can hear them, echoing through crowded hallways, their beats against the floor like blood through veins. The sound is insistent and annoying. I desperately wish everyone would stop moving, that all these tired and restless souls would calm for only a second to give me some sort of peace. After dying I really only want some serenity and silence, but I have a feeling I won't be getting that anytime soon.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

My own veins sound in my ears, blood rushing through them. Blood. I knew then that I must have ended up in hell, that God had cursed me to live out the rest of eternity in a flaming and fiery cell as my son had predicted. He had been right. We were all cursed from the beginning.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

"His brain activity is through the roof! Doctor, I think he's going to wake up!"

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

This girl says I'm waking up, but I don't want to. I want to keep my eyes shut, to live in ignorance for only a few more seconds before accepting my cursed fate. I don't want to see the devil, not today, not any day.

The blood running through me pumps faster, screaming in my ears almost painfully.

_ThumpThumpThump._

My heart beats quickly in my chest, threatening to explode through my ribcage. The pressure is almost too much to take, the sickening feeling in my stomach almost too much to bear. But somehow I make it through. Somehow I'm able to get through, to make it to the other side. Hell, or heaven, whichever one God sees fit for me.

The first thing I noticed was the sky outside the small window. The sharp outline of a city blocked most of the sky from my angle, but I could still make out the soft rays of light coming off the setting sun, coloring the clouds a bright orange. The sight was oddly comforting. Surely nothing so peaceful can survive in hell; nothing so beautiful can be kept in the same chamber as the devil.

I knew then that I was not in hell, but the thought didn't comfort me. Not in the slightest.

"Carlisle? Carlisle Cullen?"

I drew my stare to the sound of a woman's voice, a firm but kind sound. My eyes were slightly blurry but I could still make out her face. Steady eyes, a pretty, maybe even beautiful face, and a dangling name tag stating that she was a licensed doctor. I could tell by its format and her accent that she was an English doctor, a fact that I wasn't quite expecting. I had just recently visited England to ask Alistair for his assistance in fighting the Volturi but I hadn't lived there in many, many years. Esme found it too far away, and the children didn't particularly like sticking out even more by not speaking in the local dialect so we hadn't stayed there in quite some time. Not that I really mind all that much, America became my home years ago and the urge to go back to England never really appeared.

So why am I in England now? I would have never guessed my home land of England would once again become my home after death. I suppose some things just happen that way.

"Hello, sir," the doctor said brightly, her eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you finally awake. We're just going to run a few tests on you before we try and get you moving. I'm sure you'll be a bit stiff."

She quickly shined a bright light in my eyes, forcing me to squint and blink in annoyance. She laughed lightly and checked my ears and throat, making sure nothing was obviously wrong. The tests were strange and uncomfortable, but I endured them none the less.

The doctor, whose name I learned was Abigail, was nice enough and took the time to do every test thoroughly and expertly. I could tell she took her job quite serious. She smiled, laughed, and even joked about my rather odd predicament but never once did she slip or do something wrong, as I would have suspected from such a young woman. Most humans take years to get to her level of expertise, and some never reach it. If I weren't married I'm sure I would have been attracted to such a brilliant and rather pretty girl, she was quite striking in her work element.

"Well Carlisle, everything checks out fine. You should be able to get up and walk around for a bit, get your legs moving again. You've been asleep for almost four months, so I'm sure your body would appreciate a little exercise. Let me just unhook a few of these pesky IV's," she muttered, walking over to my bedside. She carefully plucked the tubes from my skin and allowed them to dangle from their various machines as she assisted me into a seated position. My body was weak and tired, but with enough will power it would indeed move, especially with Abigail's help.

A slight tremor raced up my spine as my feet touched the ground and my knees bent, pushing me upwards. Almost immediately my legs buckled, sending me flying towards the ground, my body much too weak to change my downward direction. The doctor yelped and grabbed my arms, yanking me toward the bed with surprising strength and agility.

"Well, that didn't go as I thought it would," she said cutely, tucking a strand of caramel colored hair behind her ear. "But we can try again, if you want. We have all day; you're my only patient, usually. I'm only in training, really. They don't trust me with much."

_Caramel colored hair. _

_How could you forget about her already?_

_Esme. My Esme. _

"Where's Esme?"

Abigail looked at me with a questioning gaze. She tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. "Esme? What an odd name. Kind of old and rustic. As for her location, I couldn't tell you. Is she a friend of yours, someone you might have known?"

She picked up a bright green folder and began flipping through the pages, scanning the words for my love's name. "No Esme here. You only had a few people stop by, but she wasn't one of them. Do you remember your relationship with her? Friend, cousin, aunt? Says here you don't have any family aside from one daughter."

"Daughter? No, that information must be incorrect. Maybe you read it wrong or something. My wife and I are unable to bear children. Esme can never have children," I said slowly, almost tasting the words in my mouth. For some reason they didn't sound right, didn't seem real enough to be reality. But it easily could have been some sort of illusion, for I know my own past. I know what my life was like; death will not make me forget who I was. Only I can do that.

She sighed audibly, shaking her head with a slight of her eyes. "I think you may be feeling a bit delusional because I know for sure that these records are correct. And I've seen your daughter myself; as a matter of fact she came in just last week. Cute girl. She looks an awful lot like you, and I know for certain that she misses her daddy quite a bit." Abigail smiled and placed the folder down on the table next to me. "How about we give this whole walking thing another shot?" she asked, grabbing my hands gently and pulling them towards her. She felt surprisingly cold against my hot and sweaty skin.

"I need to see Esme. Now," I commanded hoarsely. I swung my legs overt the bed and stood up swiftly, my legs quickly adjusting to the new position. My muscles held strong and after only a few seconds I took my first step. I could feel a wave of fatigue wash over my body, telling me to sit back down, to wait to refuel before searching for my wife. But I couldn't wait. I needed to see her.

_What if she didn't die, Carlisle? What if she's still alive? And even if she did die what makes you think she would end up in the same place as you?_

I suppose that is true. She could have easily survived if the cards were in her favor. We had not only Alice, but also Bella whose gift could have saved everyone. Aside from me of course, I was already dead before I even stepped on that field. No one could have saved me, but surely someone would have been able to save my precious Esme. Surely Edward wouldn't just let his mother die.

So maybe she's not here. Maybe she's safe in the real world, with Alice and Bella and Nessie and the rest of the family. Maybe I was the only causality of that awful day. I suppose I can only hope, but sometimes just the hope that your love is safe is enough to get through, even when you're as dead as I am. The thought of Esme safe and surrounded by her family is enough to get through today and maybe tomorrow.

"Wait! Carlisle, I can't allow you to leave, not yet anyway. Your vitals seem ok, but you'll need to spend at least a week here, just in case anything happens. And the psych-ward doctor, Dr. Hill, wants to see you tomorrow for your OCD problems. An increase on your dosage might help you a lot," she explained carefully. I felt her hand wrap around my arm, tugging me toward her. I succumbed to her strength and lied down on the bed, the stiff hospital bed molding to my form instantly. I suddenly felt exhausted, as if I had run a marathon the day before. This whole being dead and being human sure does take a toll on the body.

Abigail smiled at me warmly, patting my arm through the thin sheet. "I really should be getting you up and going, but you just look so tired. Plus, this is a lot of information to soak in; you deserve a little time to think. I'll be back in about an hour to wake you back up. Hopefully your daughter will be here by then." Her eyes glanced over to the door, a worried expression dawning on her face. I couldn't help but wonder what she was so worried about. It was a puzzling and complex thought, much too complex to be thinking about right now. My mind is so fuzzy and disoriented that even the smallest thought causes it to ache with pain. Right now all I need is sleep, and although I haven't slept in many, many years the act seems so easy now. I suppose you never forget things like sleeping or eating. They just fade a bit, like riding a bike after a few decades. It's odd but not completely foreign.

"It's so nice to see you awake again, Carlisle. I'll see you in a bit," Abigail said softly, shutting the door behind her.

I thought about getting up and inspecting my new surroundings, but decided against it once another wave of fatigue washed over me. Moving would be too much of a chore right now anyway. I promised myself that once I wake back up I would search this world for answers, and get to the bottom of this place once and for all. So many questions whirl through my mind with every passing second, but not one is urgent enough to get me back up. My muscles and bones are much too tired for that, much too tired for anything really.

My mind lingered on Abigail, or Dr. Parker as I should have called her, in my last moments of consciousness. She reminded me a lot of Esme, almost in a frightening way. The heart shaped face, the warm caramel colored hair, the kind eyes that you just want to get lost in for hours. Everything about her screamed Esme and because of that I felt an odd pull toward her. It wasn't nearly as strong as my pull toward the actual Esme, but it was strong enough for me to notice. I enjoyed her presence, probably more then I should have but couldn't find it in myself to feel guilty about it, or regret my actions. Somewhere, in the real world, Esme is safe and happy. She doesn't need me anymore, and even if she did she couldn't reach me anyway, so shouldn't I find a way to move on?

But is it really moving on when the person you fall for is just a copy of your actual wife? Maybe Abigail is nothing more than an illusion made by the devil to lure me in, to seduce me. Well, I wouldn't fall for it, not while Esme is still out there. I'm more of a man then that.

And with that the world of dreams pulled me under with a heavy and almost audible sigh. I didn't even try to fight it when the nightmares began to form.

**OoOoOoOoO**

I'm not really sure how I'm still able to run, but I am. I'm not running incredibly fast, but I am running, I know that for sure. The heavy thump of shoes on dry dirt echoes through my ears, mimicking and mocking the sound of my steady pulse. Smoke clogs my lungs, the thick ash coating my throat and mouth like a fog over a wet field. Spitting the stuff out only does so much, and even then it only rids the mouth of a few globs. The rest are left to congeal over my teeth and tongue, the taste so utterly disgusting that it has me gagging every few seconds.

But I continue on anyway. For what? I wish I knew.

I can see a burning house on the horizon line, the cause of all the smoke. Surrounded by the old house are thick oak trees, their branches already burned down to blackened crisps, serving as a warning to anyone dumb enough to get close to the roaring flames. The slim house is familiar, as if from a story told long ago, and although my mind can't readily recall from where that two story house is from, I still mourn its blackened corpse, and I still run towards it, wishing I could have stopped its imminent destruction.

Throaty screams penetrate the night, almost stopping me in my tracks. I know those screams. I know who makes them.

I try to run faster, to beat this horrendous sight, to save my love, but by the time I reach the house I already know I'm too late to save anyone.

The door has already been burned down so it's easy enough to get inside. I tear a piece of my sleeve off to cover my mouth and nose, though it does little to keep the smoke out of my lungs. My eyes are watering, sprinkling down my face like tears. My skin is hot and sweaty, but cold as well. I remember from my days as a doctor that many times people can begin to feel cold as they burn to death, just as people can begin to feel hot as they die from hypothermia. It's almost like the bodies last line of defense before breaking down.

That's when I see her. She's hiding in the corner, a gun in hand, the barrel pointed at me. Her hands are shaking so bad I'm surprised she's able to keep her grip on the pistol without dropping it. Her face is pained and I can tell she's trying hard to make a decision. I know her every expression, every turn of her lips, every light behind those eyes. I know _her_.

"Esme, love, what you doing?"

I say the words, but they come out as more of a murmur than anything else. My throat is far too damaged to do much more. Her brown eyes meet mine and although they seem steady I can feel the sadness and desperation behind them. I wish I knew what was troubling her.

"Esme, put the gun down, we can solve this. Come on, we need to leave before we both die," I warned her, reaching out toward her with one hand. Behind me I can hear the house crumbling beneath the pressure of the fire. There's absolutely no time left.

"You left me!"

Her voice is perfectly clear in my mind, as if she were speaking directly to me in a silent room. It's terrifying.

"Esme, I'm right here, please, we need to leave. Please put the gun down and come with me," I plead, but to no avail. She won't budge.

"You left me!"

Again, as clear as ever.

"You left me and expected me to keep living without you!"

There's a quiver in her voice now, I can tell she's about to break. A tear leaks from her eyes, creating a pale line down her ash coated face. The barrel of the gun shakes as her grip weakens.

"I'm sorry Esme, but I'm here now. Please, we need to leave." If I could only get closer and remove the gun from her hand, but my feet are rooted to the ground a few feet away from her. There's no use in trying to run now. We're both dead.

"Y-You left me," she stuttered hoarsely, "And now I'm going to leave you."

She moves with surprising strength, her arm moving swiftly to position the gun inside her mouth, the barrel pressed against her right cheek securely. Her ruby colored lips are parted slightly, as if daring me to do anything. Her eyes are dead as she stares at me. She's already dead.

I can only let out a strangled cry as her finger pulls the trigger, a loud bang echoing through the burning house. Only one thought crosses my mind as a blinding white light floods across my eyes.

This is the first house Esme and I lived together in, way back in 1921, and now it is destroyed, just like everything else.

**OoOoOoOoO**

"Mr. Cullen? I hate to wake you, but your daughter Cecilia is here to see you."

My eyes open to reveal the same hospital room and doctor I had come to associate with this new world. It was oddly comforting to be out of my nightmare, even if it did have remnants of my past. I couldn't get the image of Esme out of my mind, that gun stuck in her mouth, her eyes all watery. It seemed so real. Maybe it was, who am I to know? This all seems like a dream to me.

Abigail assists me into a sitting position as a short blonde toddler comes trotting in, followed by a sleek twenty-something redhead. Her arms were crossed stiffly and her eyebrows were narrowed above her dark colored eyes. She obviously didn't want to be here.

Just by a glance I could see the blatant similarities between myself and the little girl. Her bright blue eyes and cute button nose reminded me of my own childhood, and although I couldn't exactly remember much of my time as a human I could tell she would grow up to have many of my exact features. It was almost like looking into a mirror.

"Daddy!" the little girl yelped, running over to my bedside. She clawed at the blanket, pulling herself up with little struggle. Abigail smiled and nodded, encouraging me to do something fatherly.

I had always loved children and although I was never given the opportunity to have one of my own I've always been good with them. Kids have a language of their own; you just have to learn how to speak it.

"Hello Cecilia, it's so nice to see you," I said radiantly, pulling the little girl into my lap. She giggled cutely and pulled at a stand of my hair. She was utterly perfect. The child I had always wanted so desperately but never got.

_If only Esme were here. She would love her._

"I missed you, Daddy. Mommy said you wouldn't wake up but I knew you would. You were just taking a nap."

_What an odd world I've found myself in._

Cecilia pulled her gaze away from me for a second to stare at her Mother, the snake like red head in the corner. "See Mommy? He woke up."

Her mother raised one eyebrow and nodded tersely. "Yes, I see that dear. Now please hurry up, you have a piano lesson in half an hour."

Cecilia rolled her eyes and pouted before turning back to me. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "I'll come back later, with Aunt Lily. She likes you more than Mommy."

I laughed at the little girl's bluntness, "Ok sweetie. I'll see you then."

She hopped off my lap and raced over to her mother who stuck her hand out, waiting for her daughter to react to her open palm. Cecilia looked at it for a moment, deciphering what to do. She finally waved at me one last time before skipping out of the room, leaving her mother behind, a scowl plastered on her face.

"It's nice to see you're alive, Carlisle," the red head said, though by her tone I could have guessed otherwise. She didn't sound exactly happy to see me.

I was about to answer but the sound of the door slamming shut stopped me before I could start. I stared at the wooden door, wondering what I had done to make the woman hate me so much.

"Don't worry about her; she's just a little...frustrated. With you. All the time," Abigail said awkwardly as she walked over from her spot by the window. She sat down on the bed, moving one of her hands to rest of my covered foot. "Never the less, you did exceptionally well. I'm very proud of you."

I could tell she was flirting with me again, but chose to ignore it. I didn't need it, not now anyway, not with everything that's happened.

"I truly don't remember anything, or anyone for that matter, but I really do like Cecilia. She's quite cute. How old is she exactly?" I asked.

Abigail pursed her lips and chewed on her cheek for a moment. "Four, I think. Your ex -wife said you were twenty-four when she was born, so that number makes sense," she explained.

"So that makes me twenty-eight," I said quietly, tasting the number for the first time.

It was odd to think of myself as a man older then twenty-three, since I had been that age for most of my life. Never did I grow older, or have to face aging as most people did. I'm immortal, well I was. I'm obviously not anymore, but I'm also not alive anymore. I'm dead, formally so.

"That is correct, only twenty-eight, which means you have your entire life ahead of you. Come on, let's get you going."

The days at the hospital began to fade into one another as a schedule developed between me and Abigail.

Breakfast.

Shower.

Physical Therapy.

Talk with Abigail.

Lunch.

Therapy with Dr. Hill.

Talk with Abigail some more.

Sleep.

It was monotonous but comforting and steady. I needed structure, and a schedule gave that to me. I needed to know what was coming every minute of every day. Dr. Hill says it's a symptom of my OCD, though I really didn't need him to tell me that. I know what the symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; I've been to medical school more times than I can count. I also know that as a human I demonstrate those symptoms perfectly. Abigail says I've been on medication for almost five years. This of course is news to me.

"That's how you got into this whole mess," Abigail says as she sets down her cup of tea. We're sitting in the cafeteria , chatting over lunch during one of Abigail's numerous breaks. Since she's such a new doctor she doesn't have many responsibilities, which is great for both of us since neither of us seem to have many visitors, or friends for that matter. "You were at a bar downtown and you couldn't leave this guys' drink alone because its position was bothering you. He asked you to quit and you wouldn't, thus the start of the fight. The guy was pretty big, especially when compared to you, so he pretty much beat you to a pulp. The EMT guy said he slammed a chair over your head. The guy was arrested of course but there was nothing we could do to get you out of the coma. Something inside your brain just shut off for a couple months. The doctors are still pretty puzzled over what happened. Maybe your story will make it into a medical journal or something over in the U.S. Wouldn't that be cool?" she asked.

I looked up from the table and nodded slightly. She glanced at the arrangement I had made with the sugar packets and sighed. Three reds on the left, three blues on the right. Perfect. I counted them again, just to make sure they were correct. They were.

"You're listening to me, right?"

I looked up again and nodded. "Of course, who else do I have to listen to?"

She chuckled at that and grabbed one of the sugar packets, ripping it open and pouring it into her tea. I sighed and handed her a packet in the opposite color.

"There has to be the same number of each packet," I explained, placing the little blue package in front of her.

"I almost forgot," she said sarcastically, dumping the pack into the Styrofoam cup before taking another sip. She smiled at me behind the cup. I couldn't help but be reminded of her beauty. In certain light she was quite stunning.

"You remind me of Esme," I blurted out stupidly. She blinked once, then twice, before setting her cup down on the table. I could tell she wasn't frustrated, but more curious. I had accidently mentioned Esme before in conversation and she had let it slide. I knew I wouldn't be so lucky now.

"How about you tell me about this mysterious girl," she offered. I noticed her eyes had become dark and stormy. She wanted to know what was going on inside my mind, but I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone about my past, or my death, or Esme. How could I? This world is so different then the last one I had lived in. They wouldn't understand the logistics of my life as a vampire. I would have to keep it a secret.

Various lies began to formulate in my mind as Abigail sat patiently awaiting my answer.

_First love in high school._

_First lay in college._

_One night stand after my violent divorce._

Any of them would have worked, but I just couldn't make myself lie to Abigail in such a blatant and obvious way. She wouldn't know, but I would. Abigail has been so open and honest with me over these past few days; doesn't she deserve the same in return?

"It's ok if you don't want to tell me. I'll understand. It's just that you say her name sometimes at night over and over. Esme, Esme, Esme. It's almost like a chant. I haven't told anyone about it because I didn't want the information rolling around to Dr. Hill who would just up your dosage, which is the last thing I want. I was just wondering is all, you don't have to answer."

"No," I sighed, sitting up straighter in my chair. I could do this. "You deserve to know. Esme was…my…"

_Don't say wife, she already thinks you're crazy._

"My…lover for the longest time," I said softly. That wasn't a lie at all. Esme and I had celebrated our ninetieth anniversary this year, and we were lovers. We were just married lovers, but I decided Abigail didn't really need to know that bit of knowledge right now.

"Oh. Well, do you know where she lives? Maybe you could call her, see what she's up to. Maybe she misses you as much as you miss her," Abigail supplied casually. Much too casual for my taste. Any sentence involving Esme deserves the upmost respect. Esme is not just _some girl_ as Abigail is, no Esme is much more.

"She's gone now," I murmured as I straightened the silverware in front of me. Abigail watched me with disconcerting eyes, her mouth twisted slightly.

"You mean she's dead?" she asked, lowering her voice so others wouldn't be able to hear.

I shrugged, "I wish I knew. The last time I saw her was before the accident." Once again, not a lie. I haven't seen her since I woke up, and in my mind the 'accident' is not the bar fight I apparently got into but my death on that snowy field in front of my family and wife. I know it wasn't an accident but a murder, though sometimes I like to think it was only accident that sent me here, to this purgatory that I now call home.

"You loved her," Abigail said as she slowly moved her spoon around in her cup. A drop splashed onto the table, an annoying brown spot on the white plastic. "I can tell by your eyes that you loved her."

"I did love her. I still do, but what is over is over. There's no getting her back now. I left her." I did leave her and she reminds me of that every single night before she kills herself with that cursed gun inside that burning house. I pushed her to do that, and even though I know that the Esme that I see every night is only an element of my dream I can't help but wonder if she really did kill herself because I died without her. I'd like to think she wouldn't but then I look back on what she did in her human life, after her baby died. She tried suicide then, did she not? What makes me think she wouldn't try again?

"Why did you leave her?" Abigail asked, rather intrusively. I thought about not answering and just getting up and going back to my room but quickly deemed that as too rude, especially after all the kindness Abigail has shown me. Even if I can't give her the full truth, I'll try and give her a sliver of it. She deserves that much.

"I had no choice, I had to. I didn't want to, no I most certainty didn't want to leave Esme, but I was forced to. Every relationship has a timer, and once that timer runs out you can't go back. I wish I had more time with her, but there's no use dwelling on her now. I need to move on," I told her, an edge of confidence in my voice, though I couldn't even believe my own words. I could never move on, get away from my memory of _her_. I don't want to either.

She nodded, "I suppose you're right. We all need to move on sometime. So, how do I remind you of her? Is it the hair the eyes, or maybe it's just the sparkling personality," she joked, clasping her hands together and leaning her head to the side in feign adoration.

I laughed, shaking my head at her display. "It's everything really. If I had a picture of her I would show you, but they're all gone. I don't know what it is, but you two are very much alike. I wish you could have met her," I admitted truthfully.

She smiled brightly and I could tell the comment had made her happy. She enjoyed it when I became a bit flirtier around her, even if I didn't. She was cute, and a lot _like_ Esme, but not the woman herself. In the words of Johnny Cash I would 'walk the line' for my wife. It's the least I could do.

"I wish I could have too. She sounds like a really great woman."

We stayed silent for a while, neither of us saying anything in the hopes of keeping this quiet peace alive. As much as I had come to enjoy my time with Abigail, I would always favor silence over speaking. Esme understood that about me so well. Sometimes we would sit for hours, never saying a word but constantly communicating through touches and caresses. I miss those nights more than anything.

"Well," Abigail said, breaking the silence with her chirpy voice. "Tomorrow's your last day here. On Wednesday you'll be able to go home. Are you excited?" she asked expectedly.

"Hardly," I admitted. "I don't even remember where I live, let alone how to get there or how to get in once I'm there. Plus, I've enjoyed my time here with you and the rest of the patients and staff. I'll miss it here."

Abigail shrugged her shoulders and stirred her tea. "You had your keys in your pocket when you came to the hospital. The police traced your residence to a flat on Commercial road, near Limehouse Station. I'll be able to get you there easy enough."

"You'll take me?" I inquired hesitantly.

Abigail nodded, "Yea, of course. I don't live far from there anyway, so you won't have to say goodbye to me," she winked cutely. "Plus, you don't have any money and I don't think you want to walk half way across London, especially not in those shoes." She glanced at the cheap tennis shoes one of the nurses had given me. The soles were already wearing out after only a few days of use. They were comfortable enough though, and much better than walking around the hospital bare foot.

I shrugged and agreed to the arrangement.

We cleaned up our table and made our way to the third floor where Abigail walked me to Dr. Hill's room. I didn't need her assistance anymore, I could walk fine, but her presence was comforting.

"Good luck," she whispered before leaving and getting back on the elevator. I knew I would see her again before the day was done but I already missed her. She had quickly become my Esme supplement and although I knew better than to substitute someone so important I needed her to act as Esme's replacement to keep me sane. Without her I would be completely disoriented.

Dr. Hill was an old and gray man with a soft voice and squinty eyes. He's slow moving and never seems to do much of anything but sip tea and talk. I don't even think I've ever seen him stand up. He could be wearing plaid pajama pants every day for all I know.

"Mr. Cullen, it's nice to see you again," Dr. Hill said, pulling out a familiar green folder containing all my immediate information. I took a seat in front of the doctor's desk, awkwardly adjusting myself in the straight backed chair. It was rather uncomfortable.

"Nice to see you as well," I said, more out of politeness then actual truth. I didn't exactly enjoy these sessions.

"So, how are you?" he asked, leaning forward on his crossed arms. I noticed he had spilled some ink on one of the papers on his desk. The little black spot was quite annoying.

"I'm doing fine," I said, using my generic answer. Although Dr. Hill is considered one of the best psychologists in his field, I wouldn't trust him with any personal information. I really haven't told him much of anything, aside from mentioning my complete and utter lack of knowledge when it comes to anything before the coma. I didn't dare tell him about Esme or my life before this. Everyone in this hospital already thinks I'm crazy anyway. I don't need to give them another reason to mark me off as insane.

"Excellent. It says here that your last day is tomorrow. How does that make you feel?"

_How does that make you feel?_

If I had a dollar for every time Dr. Hill said that I would have enough money to buy a plane ticket back to Forks. If only.

"I'm excited about going back home but I'll also miss my time here. It's easy here," I explained, as it was. Life is hard. Purgatory is easy.

"I see," he said, flipping through the pages mindlessly. He kept glancing at the clock, probably wondering when he would be able to go home, back to his wife and family. I remember doing that, staring at the hands on the clock, wondering when I would be able to see my precious Esme again. The time never seemed to pass quick enough.

"I suppose you'll miss that little Abigail girl the most, won't you?" he asked randomly, a sly smile plastered on his leather-like face. The question caused a blush to form on my cheeks and an anger to rise in my chest. I didn't like talking about my feelings for Abigail or feelings at all. He was really beginning to push my buttons, which I suppose is just part of his job.

I let a glob of saliva slide down my throat before answering. The extra few seconds allowed me to calm down a bit and get a hold on my flare of anger. Once in control I spoke, clear and loud, "If you want to say that you can but I harbor no romantic feelings for Dr. Parker, nor will I ever. I have other, more suited interests then chasing doctors. Now, if you will excuse me I have somewhere to be," I said simply. I stood up, gaining a curious glance from Dr. Hill.

"Your time slot isn't up yet, Mr. Cullen. Technically I can't allow you to go," he warned. His beady eyes centered on me over his wire frame glasses, but I ignored his cold stare. I didn't need this anyway.

"As you can see doctor, I am doing just fine. I think your wife would appreciate a little extra time with her husband anyway, don't you think?" I smiled and he gave me a stout nod.

"I suppose. Goodbye, Mr. Cullen."

And with that I was gone.

**OoOoOoOoO**

"I think this is the place," Abigail said, putting the car into park. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes glassy. If I hadn't known better I would have said she was on the verge of tears, but Abigail is much too strong for that. I suppose that's one thing she doesn't have in common with Esme. My wife has always been good at showing her emotions, both pleasant and not so pleasant.

"I wouldn't know," I admitted, looking at the small but well-kept building. "What floor am I on again?"

She pulled a slip of paper out from her jacket pocket, unfolding it carefully. It already looked worn and read, which it was. I had looked it over almost a million times a night before, desperately trying to memorize every line. For the most part I did memorize the whole thing, my address, my phone number, even my email address that they found on my lap top. I memorized it all, but I always like to make sure. You can never be too sure.

"Third," she reminded me. "Do you want some help moving all your stuff in?"

I laughed a bit and looked over my half-filled book bag and throw-away bag of toiletries from the hospital. "What stuff?"

She sighed deeply, turning toward the steering wheel, her eyes directed downward. "Alright then, go ahead. I'll see you around."

Her voice was dead as she spoke. Dead and cold. She didn't want to leave and I didn't really want her to either. The connection I had already formed with her was strong, and although it's almost entirely based off of my love for Esme it's still there and I can't just ignore it. I can't just live my life in this weird Purgatory alone.

"I guess you _could _help me, if you want," I offered, giving her a smile. She returned it along with a quick nod before unlocking the doors and jumping out. She skipped up to the front door, my cheap book bag gracing her shoulders.

I stood there for a minute, just staring at her and wondering what would happen in the future. She reminded me so much of Esme, but she would never really be _her_, no matter how much I want her to be. Could I ever fall in love with her? Maybe, but I really, truly hope not because if I do I'll never be able to forgive myself.

She's pretty, but she's no Esme. She's got a nice personality, but it doesn't measure up when compared to Esme's. Nothing does. She's a nice distraction but she's not my wife. My wife isn't dead, I am and I suppose Abigail is as well.

I've been cursed to live my life in an eternal purgatory, away from the troubles of reality but also away from the joys of my old life. No longer am I the strong and capable Dr. Carlisle Cullen, but the feeble and weak Mr. Carlisle Cullen, medical school dropout and divorcee.

I think about the life that I live now. Such a human and mundane life when compared to my life as a vampire. Eternal and powerful, but damned from the light. Was that not my reality? Or maybe this is reality and all I've ever known was nothing but a dream. Did Esme ever really exist? How about Edward, or Alice, or Rosalie or anyone in my family, did they exist? What if I never really died, what if I just woke up? The thought is too disturbing to think about for more than a few seconds, but I do anyway because I need to know the truth and although it's unlikely that I dreamed up my entire life anything can happen. I learned that first hand over four hundred years ago in this city when I was transformed into a vampire. Surely that was real. You can't just imagine something like that.

"Come on Carlisle, it's getting late and I'm hungry. There's a little café just down the street where we can go once we put down all your stuff," Abigail yelled from door where she was fumbling with the key.

"Okay, I'm coming."

It couldn't have been a dream. No, it was so real, too real.

But a part of me knows that the only reality is this, and this is all I have. All I've ever had.

r document here...


	3. Open Wounds

**Esme's chapter! It's a bit depressing, but they have to be for things to get better. Mentions of rape and violence are prevalent in this chapter. Consider yourself warned. Hope you enjoy!**

**OoOoOoOoO**

I woke with a sharp gasp, sharp enough to painfully squeeze my lungs until I was panting for breath like a common animal. No surprise that's what I felt like. An animal living in hell.

My eyes were fuzzy, and my ears, which were at one time the best in the Cullen family, could now barely even hear. The steady stream of noise that once penetrated my space was now silent, as if all my senses had been suddenly turned off. It was annoying, but somewhat peaceful at the same time.

A soreness was over my entire body, one not from lactic acid build up from a work out, but one from injury. It was a foreign feeling, but not completely unfamiliar. I had felt it before, in my human life. I broke my leg at sixteen, and I was beaten for many years by my own husband. I know pain first hand, but this pain, _this _is on a completely different scale. This pain is excruciating.

"Doctor! Come quick, there's something wrong with her! She won't stop screaming!"

I could hear someone's voice, a male's maybe but it was distant, almost like an echo. It seemed far away. Not important. I dismissed the faint sound, choosing instead to focus on the searing pain settling over the right side of my face. Yes, that was where the pain was coming from, it was all centered there. The pain was flowing to the rest of my body but its main source was my lower right cheek, by my mouth.

I hadn't even realized I had shut my eyes until someone was opening them for me, pulling back my eyelids with disconcerting ease. My eyes searched frantically, scanning the room for any information, something to blame this awful pain on. But there was nothing, just a grey looking doctor and a few young nurses in bright blue scrubs, their expressions holding only a hint of worry. They seemed almost happy, as if this pain, this horrific undeniable pain, was amusing to them. The thought sickened me but there was no way to show it, my mouth was glued shut by something. It tasted like blood and cotton, a repulsive mix. I tried to spit it out but the movement it took to rid my mouth of the bandage only made the pain worse, and increased the volume of my screams. There was no way to stop it now, not once it's been fed.

My back arched off the bed and I could feel, for the first time, all the tubes and needles stuck to my skin. My once impenetrable skin. What happened to my diamond hard casing? What happened to my perfect eyesight and hearing? What has dulled me to a human's average? Human. I am so human.

"Should we sedate her, doctor?"

_Yes! Please!_

It was another nurse this time, an older, more experienced looking nurse. She was short with dark, kind eyes and coffee colored skin. She looked somewhat anxious, her hands almost shaking at her sides, but she also looked determined. I trusted her. She smiled at me softly and patted my hand, her skin surprisingly warm against my clammy appendage.

For some reason this woman reassured me that everything would be ok. She seemed so much kinder when compared to the snarky nurses who had been watching me before while I withered in pain, never once offering any assistance. She seemed to actually care about me, and in this cold world something even that small could make me feel the slightest bit better.

"No Jackie, not after all that's she's been through. She deserves to wake, and walk around for the first time in a while. Raise her morphine levels and get her up. I'll get one of the nurses to call her husband." The doctor stood up, scrawled something onto his yellow legal pad and left. A few of the other nurses followed, much to my joy.

The nurse, who I had learned was named Jackie, raced over to one of the many machines hooked up to my body and toyed with one of the tubes for a minute. She placed a vial near one of the clear cylinders and pumped a clear liquid inside of it. She fidgeted with it for another moment before pulling the morphine away with a sad smile.

"That should help, honey," she said slowly.

Almost instantly the pain began to dull in my mouth and I could finally take a clear look around the room. Even with my bleary and fuzzy eyes I could certainly make out the main purpose of the room. I was in a hospital. I should have already guessed that, but for some reason the thought of being stuck in a hospital never seemed to cross my mind. I mean, why would they have hospitals in hell? Does the devil get some sort of sick enjoyment out of reliving many people's last moments on earth?

But even that scenario doesn't pertain to me. I didn't die in a hospital, nowhere near. In fact, I haven't even been to a hospital for care in almost a hundred years. My death found me not in a place as clinical as a hospital, but in a place far worse. A barren field covered in snow was where I found myself before my death. But I was proud to die, happy even to die, because my husband was already gone and I knew, deep down, that without him I would never recover. Without him life wouldn't go on in my world. A day without my Carlisle is an eternity, but eternity without him is much worse than anything the devil has in store for me. Even after everything that has happened I still stand by my decision to end my own life. It was an irreversible decision, but one that, in many ways, saved me from a worse fate, life without my love.

"Now, I'm not really sure what you remember and what you forgot," the nurse said, sitting down carefully on the end of my bed. I sat up a bit, propping my back up against the headboard so my achy and tired body wouldn't have to work so hard. I pulled my legs up a bit, moving them so she could have more room, but the action proved to be somewhat painful and my joints, which were once so flexible and strong, were too stiff and jerky to really move. I winced and the nurse continued, offering me only a quick glance of pity. "But I'll give you the full recap so you won't have to ask. Your husband, Charles Evenson, came by and filled out some basic information forms for us for when you woke up, so hopefully some of this will…jog your memory."

_Charles. I am married to Charles, again. The devil has surely sought out his revenge on me this time. I will surely pay the price of suicide._

She cleared her throat and picked up a manila folder lying on the table beside the hospital bed. She adjusted herself, flipped to the first page and began to read in a clear voice.

"Your name is Esme Anne Platt Evenson. You were born on June 17th, 1987 in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio. You were the eldest sister to two much younger siblings who happened to be twins, Abigail and Lillian. They are fifteen years younger than you and were unplanned by your parents, who had you at a very early age, seventeen and nineteen to be exact. Your father was able to go to college and get a decent paying job as a computer technician while your mother started a day care and took care of you. You met a young man by the name of Charles Evenson in college while studying art and began to date him, with mixed results from your peers. Your parents adored him and you ended up marrying him and dropping out of school to become a stay at home mom once you found out you were pregnant. You carried your first child the full nine months, but sadly it was born still. Mrs. Evenson? Is any of this coming back to you? You look a little dazed? I'm sure this is a lot to process…"

I tried to talk, tried to get my mouth to form words, my throat to spit up something but I couldn't. I physically couldn't. Something was in my way. My tongue grazed across the cotton bandaged tied around my cheek, the bitterness clinging to its pores leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Bandages. I thought I had spit them all out, but I must have missed a few.

"Oh!" the nurse said, realizing what she had missed. "I'm so sorry, dear; I must have forgotten to take those nasty things off. I'm sure they're uncomfortable, and your mouth doesn't bleed much anymore anyway. Just try not to scream like you were doing before and the stitches won't come up," she reminded me calmly as she pulled the bandages off. She tossed the blood soaked gauze in a nearby trash can and gave me a slightly worried look.

"You were in an accident Esme, and although the doctors did all they could you are going to look a bit different from now on. I'm going to let you look in the mirror but only if you promise not to scream and frighten the other patients," she said, grasping her hand in mine. I gave her a swift and steady nod. I wanted to see what had happened to me in this foreign hell.

She handed me a small mirror, just big enough to capture my face in its reflection. Sure enough, the Esme looking back at me was not the same Esme I had been just before my death. No, this Esme was human, as I had already suspected, and terribly scarred. My right cheek, near my mouth was in tatters, or at least that's what it looked like. Surely that long red colored scar leading from the corner of my mouth all the way to my ear didn't belong to me. It must be someone else's injury. This must be a picture, or maybe just someone else's reflection. This can't be me. Carlisle made me perfect.

"It's much better than it was, trust me," Jackie said. She made a move to take the mirror back, but I refused to give it up. My fingers kept stroking the thick scar; the mutilated flesh that now made up my once porcelain and marble flesh was indeed real. I could feel the stiches keeping the two pieces of skin together, like two hands trying to close hell's gates. The stiches weren't really working. I could still see red, pulsing flesh bubbling up in between each stitch, as if to laugh at me, daring me to reach out and touch the blood soaked skin. But I couldn't. No, I could, but I wouldn't. There was still room inside of me for lies, and this scar, this hideous reminder of death and destruction, would be a lie. I could forget about it.

"How did this happen?" I croaked out, reluctantly handing Jackie the mirror. She placed it on the bed carefully and paused for a moment before replying.

"Since you're having so much trouble remembering, I'll tell you what happened, but you can't fuss about it, alright? You need to be strong; can you do that for me Esme?"

For some reason I nodded.

"Okay. Good." Jackie sighed deeply and moved about the room, randomly straightening up various things. I could tell she was trying to not only avoid all eye contact but also keep her back to me, as if the information hurt too much to give to me directly. I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to tell my story.

"You have a reputation around this hospital for giving birth to still born babies and for having miscarriages, both of which can harm not only your physical being, but also your mental being. A week prior to your…injury you had given birth to a healthy baby boy who died two weeks later, due to a lung infection that wasn't caught early enough. Your husband said you fell into a deep depression, one he couldn't help you out of. One no one was able to help you out of. You became so numb and somber, that you tried to kill yourself with your husband's pistol. You placed the barrel of the gun in your mouth and pulled the trigger. Luckily enough it only knocked you unconscious. A few of your neighbors heard the gunshot and rushed over, immediately calling for medical help. Your injuries were critical but you were able to pull through. You were very, very lucky, Esme. It's been a very long time since I've seen someone with your injuries actually survive," she explained. She glanced at me, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

"For some reason I don't feel so lucky," I admitted. My fingers grazed the tender scar on my cheek, double checking to make sure it was still there. It was.

_This must be Hell._

"Oh, it's not so bad, Mrs. Evenson," Jackie said brightly, "your husband will be here soon to see you and after a few days you'll be able to leave and go home."

Home. For some reason I feel the meaning I usually associate the word with won't be the same anymore. Not here. Not with Charles.

I could hardly even imagine having to go home with _him. _Just the thought of what he did to me is so gut retching, so horrifying that I can't even bare to think about it, so I don't. I push Charles away. I think about the now instead of the future and what I will have to encounter later. I'm dead anyway, what do I have to worry about? It's not like he can kill me, or even force me to kill myself. I've already done that, so what does he have against me now? For so many years the only thing he could do was inflict physical pain on me, haven't I learned how to take that pain? Can I not handle him now, what with my stronger mind and higher confidence? I will not cower in the face of the devil; I will encounter him head on.

Just like Carlisle would have wanted.

Carlisle.

His name speaks volumes within me, but for some reason I cannot even speak his title. The word is almost like a secret on my tongue, but not yet audible. It deserves to stay in my mind.

_Carlisle._

_Carlisle._

_Carlisle._

Where is he?

He was the only reason I killed myself anyway, so I could be with him. So where is he?

I look around stupidly, as if my husband would somehow materialize in front of me and kiss me like he had done less than a day ago. Well, I think it was a day ago. My memories aren't nearly as vivid as they once were, and my sense of time is a bit…off, to say the least.

"How about you get up and get dressed. It might help you feel a little more...alive," Jackie said, with a slight nervous laugh at the end. She obviously didn't understand how ironic her statement really was.

I agreed and she helped me out of the bed, making sure to be especially careful, as my muscles and bones were apparently not used to such movement.

_This is such a weird Hell._

"Do you have your balance, Mrs. Evenson?" the nurse asked hesitantly. She quickly grabbed my hand as I wobbled across the linoleum floor, carelessly grabbing onto random objects to keep myself upright. She had been right; I was a little out of practice.

"Uh, I think so," I said, holding onto the end of the metal hospital bed with all my strength. My arms ached from the exertion but I held on. Better to be tired then unconscious with a concussion from falling on the floor.

"Alright, Mrs. Evenson, I'm going to leave for just a moment. I have another patient to tend to, but if you need anything just push that button right over there," Jackie said, pointing to a small blue button on the wall beside my bed. "And if anything serious happens there are plenty of doctors outside who will be able to hear you."

She left quietly, abandoning her steady hold on my arm. I missed her presence, but also relished in her absence. It was nice and quiet without her loud and somewhat overpowering voice. It was peaceful.

I ambled over to the bed where I sat down for a few minutes, sipping on a cup of water left by one of the nurses. It was easy to get back into the mundane habit of drinking; it was so easy after all. Comforting too. How simple it is to get water, or any drink really, when compared to the struggles I once faced to get blood. Blood. Oh, I don't miss that awful thirst at all. But I do miss some things already.

The strength.

The senses.

The speed.

The clearness.

The perfection.

I'll never be able to attain that perfection again, and even if that sounds arrogant and selfish I still want it. I want to be the woman I was before this, the woman Carlisle loved. I suppose I should be thankful Carlisle isn't here, for if he was he would see me as this: a scarred and imperfect human. An ugly nobody who doesn't even deserve his name. What has become of me?

My feet move, even though I don't ask them to. My legs move, pulling me closer to the mirror situated in the bathroom across from my bed. I know what I'm doing, but I don't want to do it. I'm scared to see it, scared to see my own reflection because I know what I'll see. Imperfections. Nothingness.

Emptiness.

I shrug off the limp hospital gown and thin leggings the nurses must have dressed me in, allowing them to float to the floor like soggy feathers.

I don't know how I kept the tears at bay, but somehow I did. Somehow I didn't cry as I stared at my own scarred, disgusting, and horrific image. I had become more of a monster then I ever had been before.

Stretch marks from past pregnancies lined the sides of my stomach and breasts, causing the tissue to sag in grueling ways. My once toned and slender body had been replaced by a damaged and worn shell, covered in pale white scars and bluish colored veins. I had become a repulsive creature. A human, but not the human I was before. Before, in the early 1900's, I had never looked this hideous, but then again I had never bore a child before. Now I have, and now I see the effects such a thing can have on the human body.

I also see, on my pale white canvas skin, the tell-tale signs of abuse. They're faded, as I'm sure Charles didn't beat me while I was in the hospital unconscious, but they are there. Cuts, scars, yellowing bruises on my arms and legs, they're all there. It could be much worse, I know that, but for some reason I feel more mutilated than ever. For years I lived in utter perfection, and now to be changed to this…it's unbearable.

**OoOoOoOoO**

"Esme, honey, your husband is here to see you. He ran over as fast as he could," the nurse informed me. The door creaked open, and there, standing in an Armani suit, stood Charles. My ex-husband, or so I thought. I suppose I couldn't run forever.

"Babe," he said, smiling as he walked over to my bedside. I placed the book I had been reading down and looked up at him, expecting horns to grow out of his head. They didn't. "You don't know how happy I am to see you."

I'm sure he is. So happy he must be to see me, his runaway wife who couldn't run away fast enough. I should have known I'd be caught sometime. I was ignorant to think otherwise.

"How are you feeling? I know it's a little packed and stuffy in here, I'm sure you want to get out. I've tried to be in here as much as possible, but with work and everything I've been a little busy, but I'm here now and that's all that matters." He carefully picked up my hand, as if it were made out of porcelain, and kissed it softly. His lips felt like sandpaper against my skin. "Have you missed me?"

His eyes are dark, almost as black as my eyes would become after weeks without blood. Almost. I can still defeat him. I may not be as strong as I once was, but I'm stronger then I was the last time I saw him. No longer am I the weak, naïve girl he married. I've become the monster, and I now know how to defeat it.

"No. I haven't actually."

My lips form the words, though I don't actually want them to come out. A part of me is still too scared to go against him in any way, though that part must be less dominant then the part that want's to tear him to shreds.

The nurse's eyes flicker to mine. She mouths something but I can't quite distinguish what she says. Before I can ask her she's leaving, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

"That wasn't polite to say in front of that nurse," Charles whispered harshly. He had leaned down so his breath was on my ear, hot and sticky. I shrugged away from his touch.

"Quite frankly I don't really care what is polite and what is not. Right now, I want to be alone and you are inhibiting that. So leave. Now. And don't come back. I never want to see your face again," I clarified. The confidence behind each word was rather startlingly, as I didn't actually think I had it in me to say such things to another human, even after what he had done to me in the past. Somehow the kindness inside of me had been dimmed when I saw him. The love I had once been known for had shrunken and died, leaving me bitter and cold. I didn't need to be nice to him. He didn't deserve my attention and especially not my mercy.

His eyes became squinted lines as he stared at me, his forehead creasing weirdly. I felt his hand wrap around my arm, strong fingers clasping around my paper thin bones and deteriorated muscles. He slammed my arm down one, twice, three times, each time with more pressure than the last. His grasp tightened considerably as his lips neared my cheek, kissing the skin softly, and tenderly as if the action would make up for what he had just done. His other hand came out to hold my chin, gripping the skin painfully as he spoke.

"I don't give a fuck what you want to see, I really don't. You think you matter to me? You think your opinion matters to me? It doesn't. It never did. You might as well have just killed yourself, at least then I wouldn't have to deal with your ugly ass face every day. Might have even found myself a real wife who won't kill her own children," he spat, his salvia sticking to my cheek in long, wet strands. I made a move to wipe it off, but he held me down, my wrists bound to the bed by his strength. "Don't fuck with me Esme, because I will win. Haven't I shown you that enough over the years?"

I struggled against his grip, hissing at his face as he pushed me against the sheets harder. It had been years since I had felt so weak, so utterly and helplessly weak. I could do nothing against him, absolutely nothing. Except scream.

"Nurse!"

Charles practically flew off of me, jumping to the other side of the room just before the nurse bolted through the door. "Is there a problem?"

Charles shot me a look and I shook my head, "No, nothing's wrong. I just thought I saw something. It was nothing," I clarified. "Sorry."

The nurse gave me a quizzical look, but left anyway, never bothering to ask any further questions.

_Everyone here already thinks I'm crazy anyway._

"Don't fuck with me, Esme. You will get hurt. I'll be back here tomorrow; I hope to see you in a better mood. And if you're not, well things can be arranged," Charles said as he walked back over to me. He leaned down and kissed me softly, and for some reason I let him. He would've held me down anyway if I hadn't, but the thought that I didn't even try to fight him was sickening. My resistance was already fading.

I knew what would come next, once I was forced to go home with him. I had suffered through a married life with Charles, and I would have to again. Because even though I now live in the 21st century, the same rules apply as they did before.

Charles had always warned me that if I ever dared to tell anyone about what he did to me he would not hesitate to kill me. I know that is still true, even now. He would hunt me to the ends of the planet if I ever ran away, and now with the advances in technology and transportation, he would surely find me.

Well, there goes any confidence I had. Hello reality.

**OoOoOoOoO**

"It says here your doctor has put you on clomipramine with an added dose of abilify as an antidepressant mix, is that correct?"

Oh, therapists. They must be some of the most infuriating people on this planet. Even before, when I was a vampire, I didn't exactly like therapists. They always seemed a bit slimy to me, like used car salesmen and pizza delivery men. Now that I've had to listen to one talk to me for hours on end about my 'problems' I've learned to hate them even more, if that were even possible. Their annoying questions never seem to end.

'How does this make you feel?'

'Are you happy?'

'Why did you shoot yourself?'

'You can trust me.'

I understand she's just trying to do her job, but she's hardly even helping me. If anything she's making it worse. Now, along with everything else, I have to stress about coming to this ridiculous appointments, which I have three times a day. Yes, three. I barely even have time to eat before every appointment, and even then this awful medicine just makes me throw it all up.

So here I am, sitting in a 'depression therapists' office on the third floor of Wexner Medical listening to a woman, who I'm pretty sure is younger than me, rattle on about what I need to do to beat my 'consuming personality disorder,' whatever that means.

I wish Carlisle were here to tell me what all these fancy medical terms mean.

I wish Carlisle were here, period.

"Mrs. Evenson? Are you even listening to me? Look, if we don't sort your situation out in the next week, we will be forced to send you to a rehab facility, which could take months to complete. If you would just talk to me then you could be sent home very soon. Isn't that what you want? To go back home after being stuck here so long?"

I stared at the petite blonde girl sitting behind the huge mahogany desk, idly wondering whether or not to answer. Did I want to go home? I knew what Charles had in store for me, he had warned me after all. Did I really want to go home just to be beaten and raped again? No.

Then again do I really want to be sent to some quack rehab center for a year? No. So what do I do?

"You do understand I don't remember this life, Dr. Conner, don't you?" I whispered slowly. I folded my hands in my lap, keeping persistent, yet awkward, eye contact with the young doctor. She flinched but covered it with a smile.

"Yes, I do understand that fact. Your nurse informed me of it early on. Now, what does that have to do with the present situation?"

I sighed, placing a finger on my temple to balance my pounding head. My right cheek pulsed, the wound almost acting like a second heart. The pounding was audible in my ears, a comforting but still slightly frightening noise. "It has everything to do with it. How do you expect me to sit here and tell you why I shot myself in the mouth, why I made myself into an utter freak, when I don't even remember holding the gun in the first place? I don't remember this 'all-consuming depression', so how am I supposed to answer your idiotic questions regarding my past mental state? Please, doctor, explain to me, because I don't understand."

She eyed me darkly and picked up a random pen from her desk and began writing something down on a sheet of paper, her mouth twisted oddly. She looked annoyed but not mad, which surprised me. By what I've seen of her over the past few days she's very quick to anger. Not the best therapist on the market, but at least she's trying.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Evenson, but it is not my job to uncover your past for you, that's your responsibility. I'm here to get your depression under control so you can function in ordinary life. Right now, I don't see you functioning," she informed me dryly. Her tongue clucked annoyingly as she flipped through a messy pile of papers.

"I'm sorry you don't see me 'functioning'," I made little air quotes around the word, hoping she would get the message. "But how can you expect me to be perfectly fine after such a traumatic experience? I had to wake up to this whole new life that I didn't even remember, not to mention I was forced to see a reflection of myself no one should have to see –"

"Your self-esteem problems are discerning," she interrupted rudely. "Should I add them to your ever expanding list of problems or can you control it?"

Seriously? What sort of therapist says that? She might as well have just told me shut up and keep all my problems under lock and key, which I've been doing anyway, but still. It's not helping.

"Self-esteem problems? Give me a break, anyone placed in my same situation would feel lessened by their appearance. Have you seen this scar?" I asked hauntingly, pointing at the red and white colored scar stretching across my face. The nurse had permanently taken off all the bandages this morning, which was comfortable and nice, but also terrifying. Everywhere I go I have to see a monster in my reflection. "How would you feel if it was plastered on your face instead of mine?"

Dr. Conner breathed deeply, gripping the pen in her hand with surprising strength. Now she was angry. Good, she needs to understand what's it's like for me here. She needs to know what it's like to wake up every day in Hell.

"Alright, I think that's enough for right now. Goodbye Mrs. Evenson."

Her voice was cold, commanding and as hard as steel. I complied and left, not even bothering to say anything else. I think I got my point across just fine.

_Whatever happened to the caring and kind Esme? Where did she go?_

She must have died because I can't fine her anywhere. The only Esme left is a half-dead monster, lugging around an empty and soul-less shell.

When I went back later that day I had a new therapist. When I asked him where Dr. Conner was, he said she had other patients to tend to. Apparently I'm not good enough.

**OoOoOoOoO**

"Remember to take your pills every day; if you get off schedule it could cause some serious problems. If you begin experiencing any side effects make sure to tell your physician," the doctor stated, handing me a new bottle of pills. The little blue and white dots slid to the top of the bottle as I slipped it into my bag, giving the doctor a slight nod as I did.

"I'm already throwing up regularly because of the clomipramine, yet still gaining weight because of the abilify. Should I be worried?" I asked, running an anxious hand over my jean clad leg. I didn't want to leave this place. I didn't want to get up from this hospital bed and go into the 'real world'. I didn't want to be hurt again. But I would have to, because I'm an adult and that's what adults do. They suffer in silence.

The doctor, an older man with grey hair, shrugged casually. "With your specific condition those can be ignored. Right now we need to focus more on getting you out of this depression then what you look like. Come back in a couple months and we'll be able to change your antidepressants. At the present moment these are the best for you."

That's what he said. What he meant was: "Without theses meds you'll shoot yourself again and we don't want that death under our records, so you're going to take the pills. We really don't care if it burns your throat and makes you fat, as long as you don't shoot yourself."

I sighed and nodded again. Not much else I could do anyway.

"You'll have to come back here every other day for therapy, which shouldn't be much of a problem as you live in an apartment only a few blocks away and it says here you don't have a job so it shouldn't interfere with your schedule…"

No job.

No children.

No house or garden.

Just an apartment, the one thing I vowed to never live in, in the one place I vowed never to inhabit, Columbus Ohio, my original home. This would be a part of my Hell.

"Are you ready to go, babe? The car's ready and I got the rest of your stuff packed," Charles said, peeking around the door frame. The doctor gave him a faint smile and nodded.

"She's all ready to go. I put a few papers in her bag that the two of you should go over together once you're home. The exercises will help with her depression and help her become a healthier individual."

I glanced at the stack of pamphlets the doctor had stuck in my bag, already knowing what Charles would do with them. I made a mental note to take out the trash before anyone saw them.

"Sounds good, we'll do that right away. Thanks so much for your assistance, Doc, you've been a real help." Charles beamed as he helped me off the bed, grabbing my carry on and placing it over his shoulder. I felt his other hand around my waist, gripping it like a possession. I didn't have enough strength to push him away, though I wish I did.

"Good luck Esme. If you ever need help, there are plenty of people here who can assist you. Don't be scared to ask for support," the doctor said, his voice warm and hopeful. I gave him a slight smile before allowing Charles to guide me into the hallway and out of the hospital.

It was summer here and the air was warm as we walked to the car, Charles hand still wrapped around my waist unnervingly. His touch was annoying, and a tad bit frightening, but I could deal with it. I would have to deal with it.

"Get in," he muttered, opening the door to the green colored Bentley. His hand left my waist as he roughly pushed me into the car, slamming the door shut behind him as he walked around to the other side. The engine roared to life and the car peeled out of the parking lot.

"This is a really nice car," I mused, tracing a fingertip over the leather armrest. "What do you do for a living?"

I remember, in the early 20th century, my ex-husband had worked at a successful bank. We were quite well-off, especially when compared to my family and friends. I never really wanted the money, and Charles never really allowed me to use much of it, but it was nice to be one of the few people in the neighborhood with a car and in-house plumbing. Of course, I would have easily traded both for a husband who didn't religiously beat and rape me. I suppose we can't always get what we want.

Charles raised an eyebrow at me and chuckled darkly. "Been my wife for six years and you can't even remember what pays for all those pretty dresses and shoes of yours. Typical woman. I work in the Bank of America sky-scrapper downtown. I'm one of the top lawyers for the company. No surprise it comes with a pretty pay check, which you always seem to spend up with your crap. This month it was medical bills," Charles complained, looking at me with obvious disgust. "And those lousy doctors couldn't even fix that gunshot. I bring you to the best hospital in town and that's the best they can do. Pitiful. I don't even know why I paid the bill."

I took a deep breath and tried to reply to his rather rude statement calmly. "The nurse said it was much worse. They did a lot."

He slammed his fist down on the steering wheel, causing me to jump and slide further back in the spacious seat. "I don't want my wife looking like a freak when I take her out in public. Do you even know what this little stunt did to my reputation at work? It ruined it. You made me a joke, Esme. And you know what's even worse?"

"What?" I asked coolly. So far I had been able to keep the tremors out of my voice fairly well. Besides my shaking hands I looked calm and collected.

_You got this, Esme._

"You still have to come with me to the dinner tomorrow night, much to my luck. Apparently everyone at work is 'oh so worried about you,' as if they actually care. Linda bought you a new dress yesterday, purple and silver. I've always loved that color on you. If it doesn't fit, you've gotten too fat and you need to cut back. Understood?"

I didn't bother to mention how one of my antidepressants causes weight gain, and how even if I didn't eat a thing I'd still look bloated. He wouldn't care. He never seems to.

I propped my elbow up by the window and nodded disinterestedly, trying my best to look bored. "Sure."

**OoOoOoOoO**

The apartment itself was quite magnificent, I must say. Towering walls, beautiful arching windows, a majestic fireplace, it was all astonishing, except when you placed Charles in its presence. The whole place seemed to lose its luster when he walked in, as if the light just wanted to run away from his venomous touch. I wouldn't blame it, if I could run away I would.

_Welcome to your new prison, Esme. Have fun._

I sighed and allowed Charles to grab my waist again, his arm resting on my hip as he pulled me along. He guided me around the roomy space, pointing out various things along the way.

"Bathroom," he said, gesturing toward a small door at the end of the hall. "Guest room," he pointed toward another room. "Linda's room," another small room, much too small in my opinion for a person, even if she was a maid. "And, finally, our room."

Charles opened up two massive white doors, revealing a large but plain looking room. Everything was rich, and luxurious, as was the rest of the house, but lacking in some sort of way. It wasn't out together with an artist's mind, but with a business mind. It looked functional, but that's it. Compared to the rest of the apartment I was a bit unimpressed.

"Nothing special," Charles muttered as he kicked off his shoes and took off his watch. "But it works for me, which means it works for you."

_Oh, shut up Charles. _

"Hmm, well, thank you for showing me around. If you need me I'll be in the bath, I need some time to think," I clarified, turning to leave.

I shouldn't have been surprised when I felt Charles's iron like grip on my arm. He squeezed my flesh before pulling me toward him, pressing his body against mine. He already smelled of liquor, he must have taken a couple shots while my back was turned. Nothing ever changes.

He twisted my arm behind my back, pushing me into the bed with unneeded force. He was already much stronger then I, he could have pushed me down with one finger if he wanted to. But he doesn't want that, no, he wants a show and tonight I'm not going to give that to him.

Memories flash before my eyes, memories from my past life with Charles. All the disgusting, embarrassing things he made me do, they all wore me down. By the end of our marriage I thought of myself as a little less then dirt. He crushed my spirit and my soul in only a few years. In this reality I've been married to him for six years, double when compared to my life in the 1900's. He already has control over me, much more than he had before. He's worse, if that's even possible.

"Apparently you forgot the rules, _my dear_," he spat out sarcastically. I could almost taste the alcohol on his breath, thick and muggy. Absolutely disgusting.

"You're in my world now, and you haven't been rewarded free roam yet. You do what I say every second of every day, you got that? If I say get down on your knees you get down on your knees. You don't take baths or wander around, you are my wife and you have actual responsibilities. It's the least you can do after ruining my carpet with your bloody mouth. Now get down."

He let go of me, his eyes expectedly waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

I didn't move, I couldn't move really. He had pushed me down so hard that my mouth had begun to bleed again, heavy, wet red liquid, and I could feel myself becoming light headed very quickly. I wondered mindlessly whether or not I would faint before he beat me up. At least there are no stairs he can throw me down, those are the worst.

_It can always be worse when it comes to Charles. Always. _

"Get up now, you lazy bitch. I do everything for you and this is how you repay me. You piece of shit, you're the most worthless wife a man can own," he growls out, his hands pulling at my hair. He peels me off the bed, pushing me to the ground in front of him. He unconsciously rips a sleeve off of my shirt and sticks it in my mouth to help stop the bleeding.

"You can't just go on and bleed everywhere," he muttered, ripping my other sleeve off to wipe up the mess I had left on the bed. "You'll pay for this. You need to learn your place."

I make a move to get up, but before I can he's pushing me back to the ground, this time with even more force. My knees buckle and I fly toward the floor, face planting on the already blood splattered carpet. Charles chuckled before bending down to pull me up. He shed the rest of my stained shirt, tossing it in the trash bin, his hands immediately going to my breasts. He kneaded them harshly, pulling at them through my bra, bruising the sensitive skin.

_Don't let him do this to you. Don't let him humiliate you on the floor like a common animal. You're better than that._

I'm able to find just enough strength to sit up a bit and before Charles is able to push me back down to the floor I spit the sleeve he had shoved in my mouth at him. The blood stained cloth landed on his expensive white button up, causing a red cloud shape to blossom on the fabric.

"If you think I'll submit to you, you really are as stupid as I thought you were," I said around a mouthful of blood. "You really are the bastard I always accused you of being."

He slapped me, but it wasn't nearly as hard as I would have thought. He was holding back, preparing himself for what he would do next. The big finale. I knew him well; he wouldn't leave me conscious after saying that.

_Let him, who cares anyway? Carlisle's not here to save you, so for once in your life take it without begging for mercy like a child._

"You're going to pay for that you filthy slut," he hissed, forcing me back to the ground.

Now he's really angry, fuming even. I thought back to how I had aggravated that therapist at the hospital so badly, how amusing it was to see her fly off the edge. I tried to imagine her face on Charles, her beady eyes and crooked mouth all twisted in irritation. It was actually quite funny. I don't know whether it was from the massive amount of blood flowing from my mouth, or the fact that I was imagining my husband with a woman's face, but I laughed. Really laughed. Before I knew it I couldn't stop, I was doubled over laughing like a crazy woman, blood pouring out of my mouth like a spigot. But I couldn't care less, because at that moment I didn't feel all the restrictions I had felt before. At that moment I could have been anywhere. With Carlisle on Esme Isle, laughing at something he had said, or maybe with Nessie at the park. It was easy to lose myself once I lost my fear. Maybe too easy.

"Stop laughing you stupid cunt!" Charles bellowed loudly. But I couldn't stop, not now. I had finally found some type of peace and I wasn't about to lose it, especially not with him in the room.

That's when his foot connected with my ribcage, knocking the breath out of me instantly. My body fell back, much too weak to fight his beating. Fists flew across my face and torso, bruising my skin harshly. But once again I couldn't care less, because I had shown Charles that I wasn't afraid of him. He might be able to beat me to a pulp but he wouldn't be able to steal my dignity. I would always have that. I was no longer afraid of pain as I had been before. I could handle him now. I would find Carlisle and get out of this Hell. Everything would turn out ok, as long as I could take it.

_And take it you will._

And with that the soft and ever encompassing blackness pulled me into its welcoming embrace, allowing me to sleep off all my jumbled thoughts.

**OoOoOoOoO**

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